The Sickness
by Jennistar1
Summary: Pellinor fic, mods please add to the Bardic Scripts! The White Sickness has struck Til Amon, and Maerad is caught in the middle of a quarantine. Will she be able to escape before the sickness gets her too...?
1. The Calm Before The Storm

**NB: I don't own Maerad or Cadvan or even their world…I'm gonna go cry into my hanky now…**

_Chapter 1 – The Calm Before The Storm_

Maerad awoke to another morning of almost heavenly peace in Til Amon, her room alight with the bright, white winter sunlight and her self rolled up cosy and warm under the sheets like a hibernating animal under a sheet of snow. She could hear the faint babble of waking human life pouring through the nearby open window like a stream of silver – vague chattering, someone whistling, the trill of a flute, wheels rattling on the cobbles outside. Normal, everyday noises. Comforting noises, for one who had hardly experienced such normality herself.

Bliss, she decided. _This_ was bliss. No finery, no glory, no fame. Just waking up in a clean, warm bed on a beautiful winter's morning. Bliss. If only she could stay in this bubble of happiness forever, safe in the knowledge that she and her brother and friends were protected here, were almost _normal_ here…If only they could all stay here, all safe, all alive…

It wouldn't last, the deeper, more practical part of her mind taunted. Soon they would be travelling again, on the road once more, again unprotected and vulnerable, rooting around trying to find more on the Treesong, always tired, always afraid, always doomed –

But for now she was here, she snapped to herself. She was here, safe and happy and warm. Somehow, the knowledge that it wouldn't last only made the moment more precious to her.

She burrowed deeper into the covers, letting out a contented sigh which turned into a groan when someone hammered loudly on her door.

"Go _away_," she grunted into her pillow.

"Fine," Hem's bright – and deeper – voice retorted teasingly from behind the door. "In that case I get to eat your breakfast!"

Maerad's stomach told her that this was a bad thing, and she shot out of bed.

"Don't you dare, Hem of Pellinor - !" She wrenched open the door, but Hem was already running down the corridor, laughing at her over his shoulder and waving mockingly. She scowled at his retreating back, then turned into the bright, white room again and sighed once more – half in amused irritation and half in happiness. _Yes,_ she thought to herself. For now, life was bliss.

* * *

She walked into the dining room ten minutes later to find her share of the breakfast untouched and only Cadvan at the table, attacking a plate of fried mushrooms with relish. He winked at her as she entered.

"I protected your food from Hem. He seemed desperate to assure me that you were too lazy to bother with doing anything as energetic as eating today."

Maerad made a face that made her look fleetingly like a ten year old child.

"Brothers. Thank _you_." She sat opposite him and munched cheerfully at a piece of bread, watching the goings-on in the street through the opposite open window. The square of Til Amon was as bustling as ever – market stalls already open and their sellers leaping into action, promoting their various wares, whether it was bottles of the famous (or infamous) Til Amon wine, or vegetables and fruit, or hot loaves of bread, or traditionally and locally cared wooden figurines. People moved through the square to and fro, some rushing to get to their destination, others wandering lazily, all seemingly content. The brightness of the winter sun gleamed in the sky, making everything shine with its brilliance, and the air was refreshingly cool and crisp, tinged with the scent of bonfires and autumn leaves. Maerad took it all in with a contented sigh, prompting Cadvan to tear himself away from his precious mushrooms (A/N: does that sound dodgy to you??) and smile at her.

"A beautiful day, is it not?"

"Perfect," Maerad agreed dreamily, her chin on one hand, her eyes shining as brightly as the silver sun outside. She shook herself, at last, out of her trance and looked over at Cadvan, who quickly glanced away – but not before she caught the tenderness in his eyes.

"So what mysterious ancient language are you forcing me to learn today?" she jested to liven up the suddenly sombre (if gentle) atmosphere.

Cadvan swallowed down an obscenely large mouthful of mushrooms before answering her.

"Actually, I thought we'd have a break this morning."

"Really?"

"Yes, the First Bard has called a meeting about those few outbreaks of the White Sickness near the city, and of _course_ requested I be there – "

" – of _course_ – "

"Yes, so I thought we might as well leave the lessons till the afternoon."

Maerad looked back out of the window, her heart lifting at the idea of a few hours of freedom on such a beautiful day.

"That would be nice," she answered vaguely. She finished off her breakfast and carried the plate to the sink under the window, her mind already full of all the possible activities she could do. "I might go to the Ninth Circle then," she decided finally. "Niec agreed to show me around his workshop when I had a spare moment."

Cadvan mumbled something through his third helping of mushrooms that sounded like an affirmative, and Maerad left to get changed.

They waved a cheerful goodbye at each other out of the window, both of them horribly unaware that it would be the last time he saw her without a barrier between them.

* * *

Dun duh! Did you like? If you did, review! I know this chapter was a mite bland, but it gets more exciting/dramatic/overdramatic/melodramatic later on, so bear with me! Any criticism welcomed, it can always be improved!


	2. Closer Than You Think

**NB: I don't own 'em…I do, however, own Niec, he's all mine and you can't have him copy-writers!!**

_Chapter 2 – Closer Than You Think_

If Niec of Til Amon wasn't a Bard, the people of Til Amon had decided, then he was very nearly one. He was a carpenter, born of a simple family with too many children and not enough money. He had shown his remarkable talent for carpentry at an early age and had been apprenticed to the best carpenter in Til Amon to the enormous cost of his parents, which he was now paying back to them. He had soon bested his teacher, and within ten years had his own workshop and reputation to uphold. At the age of only twenty-five he was reputed as the best in Til Amon.

But despite this fame, Niec was the most modest man in the city, and, everyone agreed, the nicest. He was one of those rare people who was unknowingly generous, who gave without noting how selfless he was. He was shamelessly interested in everyone and everything – he _cared_, he simply _cared_, without any ulterior motives. He treated everyone he met with the same compassion and brightness, and he never stereotyped – which is something that almost everyone does, whether they realise it or not. He reminded all he met of sunbeams and summer days. Everyone loved him because he was so good and hated him for exactly the same thing – he showed them the weaknesses in themselves without meaning to, by being just who he was. All of Til Amon both violently worshipped and violently hated him. And he just spent his days in his workshop in the Ninth Circle, carving out doors, window frames, chairs, tables – the list was endless – utterly unaware just how good a person he was.

Maerad had met him at a Meet, to which he had been invited by the First Bard Élan, thanks to some first class work he had done for him earlier that week. They were introduced to each other by Soron, and got on immediately – Maerad liked him because he treated her as a person, not as the One or some symbol of hope, and he liked her because he liked everyone. Eventually, when she showed an interest in his work, he invited her to visit the workshop, and it was this invitation that she was taking him up on now.

The Ninth Circle of Til Amon was the outmost circle of the city, where mostly workmen like Niec and traders lived, so as to have easy access to the gates of the city, where they sold their wares and bought materials to and from other towns or Schools. Each Circle was separated by a low wall, but only the first four were guarded and Maerad passed through them with no trouble. There were two main roads in the Ninth Circle, and a main square just near the gates where Niec's workshop was situated. It was a small stone house, with his workshop on the ground floor open to the outside and his living quarters upstairs. He had two huge wooden doors that he locked across his workshop at night, but threw open in the morning so that anyone could stroll in for a visit whilst he was working. They were open now, and Maerad could see and hear him sawing at a large plank as soon as she entered the square. She called his name and he looked up and waved brightly. He was quite a handsome man, with gold-bronze hair that flopped elegantly over his eyes and a smile that could light up everything close to him. He wore his usual brown tunic and slacks with an apron over them, and had gentle hands, if large and calloused from his work.

"Mistress Maerad!" he chirruped at her in his voice like molten gold as she got nearer. "A nice surprise!"

His infectious cheeriness filled Maerad, and she smiled back.

"I've been released from my hard labour for the morning," she said. "So I thought I would take you up on that offer of a look around."

"Fantastic!" It was his Word of the Week, as he called it, and he would use it constantly until either everyone got annoyed with him or he got bored of it and moved onto another word. He put his saw down, wiped his sawdust-covered hands on his apron and beckoned her into the workshop. Maerad entered, looking around with interest. The bright white winter sunlight illuminated the workshop, adding a silvery sheen to the different shades of smoothed wood and making Niec's tools glimmer brightly.

Everything that Niec made was beautiful, whether it was a bowl for the First Bard or a high chair for a peasant child. All had purity of line and delicate designs, all was at the height of perfection. It was that which made the neighbours all wonder if Niec was some kind of Bard after all – to be able to create such beauty meant he had to have a bit of magic inside him somewhere. Perhaps he was a Bard of carpentry…

Maerad's eye quickly fell on a door made of a dark wood that she did not know the name of and covered with creative and fanciful carvings – creatures with mismatched heads, people clothed in fire or ice, roses and lilies and oak trees with roots where branches should be and branches were roots should be…She walked to the door, running her fingers distractedly over the designs, feeling the smoothness of the wood under her touch.

"What wood is this?" she asked.

"Ripewood," Niec informed her brightly, polishing one of his saws and sitting himself on the workbench. "My favourite wood to work with. Rare, but a beautiful shade, soft and pliable, yet strong in its core. You can almost hear it singing when you sculpt it."

"They are lovely designs," Maerad said musingly.

"I made the door for a writer Bard in the Second Circle. He leant me some of his books so that I could incorporate some of his characters into the wood. They are fantastic creations, you should read his works."

He finished polishing the saw and laid it aside, jumping off the bench and stretching.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving! Fancy some early lunch?"

Maerad turned from the door, smiling, her mouth open to answer – and then a petrified scream rent the air, cutting any reply dead in her throat.

Maerad Niec both jumped and wheeled around to the square outside where the scream had originated from. Maerad could see a woman kneeling in the centre of the square, under a tall, silver-barked tree, her auburn locks tangled and tightly gripped with harsh, white hands, her mouth twisted in pain, her voice wailing out around the square.

"Mihella," Niec murmured, and then was rushing out to the square and the despairing woman, Maerad on his heels. Once he reached the woman, he dropped to his own knees and took her bunched fists in his large, gentle hands.

"Mihella," he repeated softly. Obviously this was the woman's name. "Mihella, what has happened?"

His calm, quiet voice seemed to dispel her franticness and she blinked up at him, her fists loosening slightly.

"Oh Niec," she murmured. "'Tis awful." She screwed up her face like a child and let out a little whimper, but seemed unable to scream anymore. Maerad glanced around to see more than a few people running towards them, and others watching out of open windows with round, concerned eyes. She looked back to see that the woman was now weeping silently, and Niec was steadily wiping her tears away with his large fingers as they slid down her cheeks.

"Mihella, please tell me," he said, keeping his tone gentle. "I must know. What has happened?"

"It's Leela," she whispered, her voice hoarse, her eyes downcast.

"Your daughter," Niec said, which she confirmed with a nod. He really _did_ know everyone, Maerad thought in wonder. Mihella hesitated a little, then murmured,

"She has the Sickness."

The group of people who had gathered around let out sharp cries or mumbles of consternation, and Niec's face went white. Maerad felt a sudden unease swamp her previous happiness with hardly any effort, like a wave swamps a rowing boat in a storm.

"Do you mean," she said, her voice a little shaky, "The White Sickness?"

Mihella nodded again, her face once more crumpling like soft sand down a steep bank. The crowd murmured again, some stepping a little away from the weeping woman as if it was _she_ who had the illness.

"Are you sure?" Niec asked, his voice a little sharper. Mihella sniffed.

"Yes, Niec," she whispered. "Her eyes are – are so white." Her voice shook. "And such a fever, Niec, like you've never seen. 'Tis the White Sickness all right."

"Have you called for a Healer?" Maerad asked, and was shot a look of utter sarcasm.

"As soon as her eyes went silver," Mihella snapped. "An' the healer said he wasn't sure, that I shouldn't say nothing unless it wasn't the Sickness – didn't want to get people worried over nothing, y'know. But the fever got worse and today he confirmed it and Niec – " She stared wide-eyed at Niec, her hands clutching his shoulders tightly. "They're putting the Ninth Circle under quarantine," she said.

The crowd burst out into cries of alarm and fear – Maerad's safety, her security, her feeling of protection, it all trickled as easily as water instantly from her mind. She felt a familiar heaviness settle there instead.

"Are you sure?" mumbled Niec, his face pale with strain. Mihella nodded nervously.

"They're sending soldiers right now."

Panic rippled through the crowd, snagging and catching at Maerad's nerves, and whirling them into a spiral of tempestuous, dark fear. She _couldn't_ be quarantined here – she couldn't stay here – she was the One – she had things to do –

"But I don't understand," she said, trying to keep the worry from sounding in her voice. "The only episodes have been in villages leagues from here."

Mihella gave her another sharp glance with haunted eyes.

"Obviously," she said coldly. "It's closer than you think."

Maerad eyed her, unnerved, and Niec looked quickly at her and stood up.

"You should go," he said hastily. "You can't be trapped here – "

"Too late," wailed a person in the crowd, and Mihella pointed with a trembling finger just behind them. Maerad and Niec turned as one to see a phalanx of soldiers and Bards marching towards them, faces intent.

"Closer than you think," Maerad half-whispered to herself.

Niec took her hand.

**End of chapter 2! Did you like it? Please review! I want to know what you think of Niec and Mihella, and whether their characters are believable and likeable (esp. Niec, since he plays a big part in the future) Anywho…please review and I'll have chapter 3 up soon!**


	3. Nothing You Can Do

**NB: Heeeeeres chapter 3! I do not own them in any way, shape or form, apart from Élan…which incidentally means: a feeling of strong eagerness (usually in favor of a person or cause) due to …which sorta suits him…**

**Anywho, here we are!**

_Chapter 3 – Nothing You Can Do_

Maerad had not come back for the afternoon. Cadvan sat with Hem and Saliman at their midday meal, confused by her absence. She was obviously having such a good time that she did not want to come back yet, he supposed. But then she _knew_ she has lessons that afternoon…He munched through his meal distractedly, hardly tasting it, keeping one eye on the window overlooking the Til Amon square outside and trying to dispel a sense of alarm that was rising like bile inside him.

He had just put his food aside, unable to eat any more due to his tight throat, when there was the sound of running footsteps outside and the kitchen door was flung open. The three men glanced up to see a messenger standing in the doorway, breathing heavily.

"Lord Cadvan, Lord Saliman," he panted. "First Bard Élan requests your presence right now. It's urgent."

Cadvan's sense of panic tripled. Saliman, feeling nothing of the sort, let out a derisive snort.

"We're _eating._"

"Please, sir," the messenger said, his face pale. "It's _really_ urgent."

Cadvan and Saliman swapped a quick look which said: Élan is no fool. It must be bad.

"All right, we're coming," Cadvan answered, standing up and grabbing his cloak from a nearby chair. Hem, who had noted the new tense atmosphere, dropped his spoon in his soup.

"I'm coming too. He won't mind."

Saliman spared him a quick glance, then nodded.

"Bring Irc." Irc, hearing his name, stopped at his relentless prying into a jar of pickles and swooped onto Hem's shoulder, and they set off into the silvery-white afternoon.

* * *

Élan was greyer and more strained than Cadvan had ever seen him; a short man with a scruff of wild black hair and too many wrinkles on his face for his forty years, he now sat in his office, conversing speedily with a group of soldiers. The three entered, Cadvan noticing that the Bards who had been present at the meeting that morning were again all there. His anxiety beat a new pattern into his heart.

He caught Élan's eye.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"There's been an outbreak of the White Sickness in the city," Élan said, his voice tight. "We've had to quarantine the Ninth Circle."

Hem saw Cadvan's entire body flinch, and his face rapidly drain of colour.

Saliman, who had not noticed Cadvan's violent reaction, asked,

"Who is it?"

"A little girl called Leela, daughter of the merchant Orbius. Had it a few days, but their foolish healer wasn't sure until now."

"Did you say – " Cadvan croaked, his voice as rough as sandpaper. "Did you say the _Ninth _Circle?"

Élan shot him a puzzled look, which matched Saliman's at the sudden unsteady state of his friend.

"Yes, I did," the First Bard said. "She lives there, so the whole area has to be closed off, quarantined. No one is to go in or out."

Cadvan swayed slightly, his mouth moving and forming inaudible words. Saliman glanced at him sharply.

"Cadvan, what's wrong?"

The look Cadvan cast at them was blank with quiet horror.

"Maerad's in the Ninth Circle."

The room rustled in alarm, Hem stared in terror.

"_What?_ Why's she there?!" he demanded.

"Visiting Niec, the carpenter there," Cadvan murmured.

"But – but that means she's trapped!" Hem cried.

Cadvan turned fiercely to Élan.

"You have to let her leave."

Élan had gone even greyer, but he shook his head stubbornly.

"Impossible. I'm sorry, Cadvan."

"_But she's the One!_" shouted Hem. His temper had taken over already.

"Élan, we have to be able to leave Til Amon soon," Cadvan urged, speaking steadily although he was shaking. "You can't trap her there, not with the Sickness – "

"The rules clearly state that all who are there during the placing of the quarantine must stay there until the quarantine is lifted," Élan said firmly.

"She's only been there a few hours, Élan…" Cadvan started to object, but Élan spoke over him.

"It doesn't matter. She could easily have come into contact with an infected person during that time – she could even be infected already. You _know_ how quickly the White Sickness spreads once it gets started."

"The longer you keep her there, the more her life is at risk," Saliman retorted. "You cannot let her die there Élan, she's the One, she's more important to the Light than you know."

"And to us," Hem snapped. "And to us."

Cadvan went even paler at Hem's words.

"I'm sorry, but my decision stands," Élan argued. "I cannot risk taking her out to have her infect people – _anyone_, you Cadvan, me, the whole of Til Amon – she could infect _anyone_."

"But she might not be infected!" Hem cried.

"We do not know for sure," Élan said, as if it were the end of the matter. "She could say that she feels fine, but the illness could already be in her blood stream, already be infecting her without her knowing it. Besides, if we took her out, what would stop the friends and family of others in there coming to my door and demanding _their _escape? No. I have to make a stand. Maerad must stay in there and last out the quarantine with everyone else. I cannot take a chance on something as important as this. And there is nothing you can do to change my mind."

He looked around the room, at the faces torn between understanding and anxiety. "I must make arrangements," he said. "I will call a formal meeting this evening and explain to you in full what I have done. Meanwhile, tell no one to go near the Ninth Circle. There are soldiers already on the wall, but we cannot be sure until we set up a shield. Now, I take my leave of you…"

The Bards took the hint and piled out of the room – Élan fell back into the violently quick discussions with the soldiers. Saliman took the fuming Hem and Cadvan by their shoulders and guided them out of a room and into a nearby empty corridor, where they stopped and stood in numb silence.

"Now what?" Hem finally burst out furiously. "You heard what that overgrown piece of – "

"_Hem,_" Saliman said warningly.

"All right, all right. But you heard what he said. _There is nothing you can do to change my mind._ How are we going to reach her now?"

Cadvan, whose face had been tight with thought and worry, glanced at Irc on Hem's shoulder.

"Would Irc be able to deliver a message for me?" he asked in the Speech.

Irc ruffled his feathers proudly.

_I am the King's messenger. I can deliver any message._

_Shut up birdbrain, _Hem rebuked, but fondly. "He'd be fine," he added ironically to Cadvan.

Cadvan nodded sharply, his face still white.

"Tell him to go to Maerad wherever she is in the Ninth Circle, and say that I will meet her at the wall at midnight tonight after the meeting here. She must not be seen by the soldiers, and she must not tell anyone about it. But tell her _I will be there_."

Hem related the message to Irc, made him repeat it back twice, then opened a nearby window and let him fly out into the air.

They watched silently until the bird was just a mere speck of white in a silver sky.

"She'll be all right," Saliman said quietly. "She's strong. She'll cope."

"And we _can _do something," Hem added fervently. "We _can_ help her."

Cadvan listened to neither of them, keeping his eyes on Irc, his white face paled even more by the silver sunlight.

"I will be there," he said to himself. "I will."

* * *

**Reviews are welcomed! Chapter 4 up soon and it has some M & C–ness so keep tuned! :)**


	4. I Will Be There

**NB: Chapter 4 is up! And I like this chapter, so I'm dedicating it to everyone who has reviewed with your lovely comments so far: Eva Bourne, JessPuggy, doctor-who-mad-girl, epona04…Where would I be without you guys?!**

**I don't own Maerad. I don't own Cadvan. I do, however, own this chocolate bar (munches)…**

**Let the story continue!**

* * *

_Chapter Four – I Will Be There_

Maerad had never been in a darker city at midnight than the Ninth Circle under quarantine. Most of the people had locked themselves up in their houses, trying to avoid those who were not immediate family, trying to avoid the Sickness. All outside lights were extinguished. The Ninth Circle was like a great black pit that swallowed up even the faint light of the sickly white crescent moon above. The Eight Circle was in similar darkness, Maerad noted as she crept along the low wall. It was only the lamps the soldiers on duty held that gave out any light. She avoided them, skulking through the shadows in her hood and cloak (on loan from Niec), her fingers shaking with cold thanks to the biting winter night and her eyes open for any sign of Cadvan.

Just a little way along the wall, she thought she saw the darkness ripple, something black move in the blackness. She moved away from the soldiers, rounding a little corner, then whispered,

"Cadvan?"

The darkness moved again, and then a faint magelight was lit in midair and Cadvan's face appeared in the blackness before her, strained and exhausted, with the whiplashes on his cheek glowing on his cheek, but there.

She stepped forward gladly, her hand outstretched automatically to touch his face, but he leaned forward and seized her wrist hastily before she had reached across the wall.

"Don't lean past the wall," he hissed. "The soldiers have a shield up, they'll sense if you move even an inch past it."

She stared blankly up at him, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers around her wrist.

"Then how can you reach through it?" she asked.

"It only works one way," Cadvan answered. "Otherwise the soldiers wouldn't be able to enter without setting it off. Once they're inside the Circle, they can put down the shield to get out, but only for one person and only for a mere second – not enough time for anyone else to get through. They do it that way so that no one on the other side can let someone from the Ninth Circle out through magic."

He had read her mind as usual, answering all the questions whirling in her mind. She nodded slowly and he withdrew his hand, leaving her wrist feeling numb.

"How are you?" he asked more softly.

She shrugged, trying to put a brave face on it.

"All right." She didn't mention how frightened she had been, how she and Niec had successfully calmed Mihella down only to hear from her neighbour that her daughter had just died, which had – of course – sent her into even more heartbroken hysterics. She didn't mention how the soldiers had locked them all into their houses – her into Niec's house – until they had put up the shield, how they had combed the streets for fleeing people and had beaten and abused them until they had agreed to be locked up. She didn't mention how all the friendliness of the locals had gone, how they looked on everyone with suspicion already, looking to see if there was even a trace of silver in a person's eyes before they agreed to come near them. She mentioned none of it, but she knew Cadvan had heard – or could sense – most of it anyway.

He nodded, watching her face, then hesitated and said abruptly,

"I couldn't get you out."

Maerad bit her lip to stop it from trembling and nodded. Cadvan continued,

"I did try Maerad, I tried but Élan wouldn't listen. He said that he would not risk the safety of Til Amon for you."

Maerad nodded again, sniffing hard to push the threatening tears away.

"He's quite right. I could be infected."

Cadvan shot her a sharp look.

"Do you feel infected?"

She couldn't meet his gaze, she just shook her head, her eyes burning with the strain of keeping back the tears.

"No." And the, suddenly, she was letting everything out, in a rush, a torrent of worry and panic and stress. "B – but then how do I _know_, Cadvan? I don't know anything about the White Sickness, I don't have a clue what to look for – I'm as useless as everyone else in here even though I'm the One, and I hate it because I should be able to _do_ something, I'm the One for a reason and I should be able to _help_…And this place messes with your mind, Cadvan, you start imagining things – you check yourself all the time, you wonder if you're too hot or too cold, if that's the Sickness taking you over, you constantly stare in the mirror, wondering if your eyes have more silver in them than before, just a shred, just one little hint – "

She took in a ragged breath, and Cadvan's hands reached across the wall and cupped her cheeks softly, his thumbs slowly wiping away the treacherous tears that trickled down her cheeks despite her efforts. She was reminded suddenly of Mihella and Niec earlier that day, and wondered if she was already going as crazy as that now broken mother.

"I can't stay here, Cadvan," she murmured. "I'll go mad."

"I know," he answered just as gently, his fingers still caressing her cheeks. "I'll work on Élan. I'll get you out."

Maerad nodded, though she wasn't sure she believed he could do it, then gave him her best – if watery – smile.

"You could always cross the wall. Come in here, with me." She was only half-joking.

Cadvan smiled, but it was a smile full of sadness.

"That wouldn't be good for either one of us." His voice was totally sombre, and his fingers trembled on her cheeks as if he were half-contemplating doing it anyway. Maerad sniffed, trying not to show her sudden disappointment.

"I have to stay here," he continued after an awkward pause. "To work on getting you out. And getting two of us out would be harder than getting one of us out."

He sounded like he was convincing himself as well as her. Maerad didn't want him to be in there, experiencing what she had to – even if she _did_ need him. She stepped back out of the feel of his fingers, drawing back her shoulders decisively.

"I know," she said in a steadier voice. "I'll be fine. I'm staying with Niec, he said I could stay. I'll be all right."

It was Cadvan's turn to nod soundlessly. His hands fell to his sides, and he seemed momentarily unable to speak a word. Maerad decided to ask the question that she knew she would not like the answer to, but had to ask anyway.

"How – how long are they going to keep us in quarantine for?"

The hesitation showed in Cadvan's eyes, but not in his face. He said, softly,

"I don't know."

"Days? Weeks?" She had to know.

The look he cast on her was full of sorrow.

"Probably months, Maerad."

The news was worse – much worse – than she had thought.

"Months," she murmured. She couldn't stay there for _months_. She would go insane. She had been trapped before, in Gilman's Cot, but it would be worse this time…with the Sickness stalking the streets, and freedom so close to her…And she had things to do – she had to play the Song, save the world, she had _responsibilities _now.

The lanterns of the soldiers started moving in their direction, and they cast each other a panicky look.

"You should go," she said. He nodded, then reached over the wall and grasped her cold, shaking hand.

"We'll meet here again. I'll send Irc, the shield won't work on birds."

Maerad managed her best smile in agreement.

"Be careful," she said. "And tell Hem – tell Hem – " She didn't know what to say, but Cadvan understood.

"I will. I'll be back. Look after yourself."

"I will," she whispered, echoing his words. They stared at each other for a moment, for a mere second, though it seemed like an hour, stared through the dim magelight and cold, crisp night air into each other's eyes, hands clasped as tightly as possible, ever more aware of the barrier between them and hating it.

And then the lights drew closer and he let go of her hand and melted into the darkness…and she was left alone, horribly alone in that darkness and that iciness, trapped in the black pit of hell.

* * *

**End of chapter 4! PLEASE review, I love reading every single one I get, and criticism is welcomed. It might be a while (hopefully not too long) before I post on here again, but be assured I will! Keep your eyes open! Thanks!**


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